THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 


THE   UNDYING   SPIRIT 
OF   FRANCE 

(LES  TRAITS  ETERNELS  DE  LA  FRANCE) 


BY 

MAURICE  BARRES 


TRANSLATED    BY 

MARGARET  W.  B.  CORWIN 

WITH    A     FOREWDRD     BY 

THEODORE  STANTON 


NEW  HAVEN:    YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

LONDON:    HUMPHREY  MILFORD 

OXFORD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

MDCCCCXVH 


COPYRIGHT,  1917 
BY  YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


First  published,  October,  1917 
Second  printing,  February,  1918 


FOREWORD 

M.  Maurice  Barres  is  a  man  of  such 
varied  interest  that  he  might  well  be 
studied  from  more  than  one  point  of 
view.  I  shall  concentrate  my  attention, 
however,  particularly  to  that  side  of  his 
character  shown  in  his  activities  as  a 
writer,  with  a  brief  glance  at  those  as 
politician  and  patriot. 

As  a  writer  M.  Barres  stands  unques- 
tionably in  the  front  rank  of  living 
French  authors.  His  ability  for  mar- 
shalling facts  is  unexcelled,  while  his 
style  of  expression  has  seldom  been 
equalled.  At  times  his  ideas  may  not 
coincide  with  ours,  but  we  can  never  fail 
to  recognize  the  skill  and  charm  with 
which  they  are  presented.  The  follow- 
ing pages  seem  to  me  to  reflect,  even  in 
translation,  his  choice  diction  and  the 
masterly  arrangement  of  his  material. 
Indeed  his  gifts  of  style  have  been  con- 
sidered remarkable  by  the  best  critics  of 


vi  FOREWORD 

France.  M.  Paul  Desjardins  spoke  of 
him  in  the  late  twenties  as  "that  youth 
endowed  with  remarkable  diction,"  M. 
Charles  Maurras  writes  of  "the  music 
of  Barres's  prose,"  while  M.  Henri 
Bremond,  in  what  is  to  me  the  finest 
critical  study  of  Barres  written  up  to  ten 
years  ago,  the  preface  to  "Vingt-cinq 
Annees  de  Vie  Litteraire,"  devotes  a 
section  to  "Barres's  rhythm."  M. 
Anatole  France,  reviewing  one  of  M. 
Barres's  books,  says:  "His  language  is 
supple  and  at  the  same  time  precise;  it 
has  wonderful  resources." 

It  is  interesting  to  note  what  Barres 
himself  says  on  the  same  subject.  "The 
art  of  writing  must  satisfy  these  two 
requirements — it  must  be  musical  and 
meet  the  demand  for  mathematical  pre- 
cision, which  exists  among  the  French 
in  every  well-regulated  soul." 

As  a  British  journalist  and  author,  the 
Hon.  Maurice  Baring,  points  out,  M. 
Barres's  "early  books  are  written  in  an 
elaborate  style  and  are  often  obscure." 
As  he  advanced  in  life  and  experience, 


FOREWORD  vii 

however,  his  style  became  less  involved 
and  the  obscurity  disappeared  com- 
pletely, as  the  readers  of  the  following 
pages  can  confirm.  In  this  respect  he 
reverses  the  course  of  one  of  his  ad- 
mirers, Henry  James,  who  began  his 
literary  career  with  a  clear  style  and 
clear  thought  and  ended  with  both 
bathed  in  ambiguity. 

Hero-worship  also  stands  out  prom- 
inently in  M.  Maurice  Barres's  writ- 
ings. To  him  all  "exceptional  men"  are 
heroes.  He  is  very  catholic  in  his  choice 
of  them,  numbering  in  his  earlier  books 
those  as  varied  as  Napoleon,  Renan  and 
Taine.  Later  Boulanger  and  Deroulede 
became  his  chief  worthies.  With  the 
coming  of  the  war  M.  Barres  attains  the 
climax  of  his  reverence  for  exceptional 
men,  for  it  is  at  the  shrine  of  the  martyr 
soldier  boys  of  France  that  he  worships, 
as  we  shall  see  in  the  pages  that  follow. 
Here,  as  in  the  matter  of  style,  his  taste 
mellows  with  age. 

Considering  Barres  as  a  patriot  and 
politician,  we  are  almost  tempted  to 


viii  FOREWORD 

pronounce  him  the  Roosevelt  of  France. 
There  are  indeed  marks  of  resemblance 
between  these  two  "exceptional  men," 
in  their  character,  ideas,  books  and 
activities.  For  Barres,  like  Roosevelt, 
is  an  ardent  disciple  of  the  doctrine  of 
"the  strenuous  life."  Thus,  in  the  pref- 
ace to  "L'Ennemi  des  Lois,"  we  read: 
"It  is  not  systems  which  we  lack,  but 
energy, — the  energy  to  conform  our 
habits  to  our  way  of  thinking."  His 
"Deracines"  has  been  called  by  him  "a 
novel  of  national  energy." 

Barres's  excessive  patriotism  is  also 
Rooseveltian  in  many  respects.  He  was 
born  in  Lorraine  in  1862  and  was  con- 
sequently but  a  child  when  the  Prov- 
inces were  torn  from  France  in  1871. 
His  native  region  is  ever  in  his  mind  and 
heart,  and  stands  out  conspicuously  in 
all  his  writings.  In  the  preface  to  "Au 
Service  de  1'Allemagne,"  he  says:  "The 
author  being  a  French  Lorrainer  neces- 
sarily judges  everything  from  the  stand- 
point of  Lorraine  and  France."  Note 
how  he  puts  Lorraine  even  before 


FOREWORD  uc 

France.  It  appears  in  his  very  first 
book.  In  his  latest  volume,  "Les 
Diverses  Families  Spirituelles  de  la 
France,"  Lorraine  is  not  forgotten.  In 
his  most  recent  essay,  that  in  the  July 
Atlantic  Monthly,  it  is  continually  ap- 
pearing, nor  is  it  absent  from  the  ora- 
tion which  follows. 

I  recall  the  presence  of  Barres  at 
Rennes  during  the  famous  Dreyfus  trial 
of  1899.  HC  represented  a  Paris  daily 
to  which  he  sent,  nightly,  long  telegrams, 
and  I  performed  a  like  duty  for  an 
American  cable  syndicate.  But  we  were 
in  opposite  camps  and  did  not  speak. 
I  still  see  his  sparse  figure  of  medium 
height  and  not  yet  touched  with  the 
embonpoint  of  the  forties,  leaning  over 
the  back  of  the  bench  in  front  of  him, 
his  swarthy  face  crowned  with  heavy 
dark  hair  which  shaded  his  deep-set 
piercing  eyes,  following  attentively  every 
word,  and  intonation,  and  phrase  of 
those  heart-moving  depositions. 

Of  late  M.  Barres  has  frequently 
expressed  the  hope  that  the  "union 


*  FOREWORD 

sacree"  created  by  the  present  war, 
would  continue  after  the  peace.  "Is  it 
possible,"  he  asks,  "that  the  same  forces 
which,  only  yesterday,  precipitated  us, 
one  against  the  other,  but  which  the 
mobilization  checked, — is  it  possible 
that  this  is  all  to  begin  again  ?  Yes,  but 
this  time  not  for  the  purpose  of  dividing 
us  or  with  any  aim  of  exclusion;  this 
time  will  be  founded  on  our  diversity  the 
finest  and  most  active  amity.  .  .  .  The 
only  diversities  which  now  exist  are 
those  which  spring  from  our  nature  and 
history.  .  .  .  To-day  France  is  unified 
and  purified." 

Our  entrance  into  the  war  has  been 
balm  in  Gilead  to  the  patriotic  soul  of 
Barres  and  has  deepened  his  old  warmth 
of  feeling  for  America.  As  I  am  cor- 
recting the  proofs  of  this  preface,  he 
sends  me  this  message  from  his  native 
Charmes,  in  the  Vosges:  "In  this  corner 
of  Lorraine  where  I  am  writing  you, 
and  where  during  the  night  we  hear  the 
rumble  of  our  victorious  cannon,  I  am 
the  neighbor  of  your  first  contingent. 


FOREWORD  xi 

Give  us  five  hundred  thousand  as  good 
as  these  ten  or  twenty  thousand  superb 
soldiers,  and  our  common  foe  will  begin 
to  make  a  wry  face." 

During  the  past  year  or  two,  M. 
Barres  has  made  the  home  letters  of  the 
young  French  heroes  at  the  front  his 
special  contribution  to  the  literature  of 
the  war.  Besides  the  splendid  ones 
given  in  the  pages  which  follow,  similar 
ones  may  be  found  in  the  Atlantic 
article  already  referred  to,  and  in  "Les 
Diverses  Families  Spirituelles  de  la 
France,"  where  they  form  the  woof  and 
warp  of  the  text,  while  others  are  scat- 
tered through  the  pages  of  the  half 
dozen  volumes  made  up  of  his  remark- 
able articles  contributed  to  the  Paris 
daily,  L'Echo  de  Paris,  and  brought 
together  under  the  collective  title, 
"L'Ame  Franchise  et  la  Guerre."  Still 
others  appear  in  some  of  the  many  pref- 
aces which  M.  Barres  has  added  to  the 
war  books  of  his  friends. 

Some  surprise  may  be  occasioned  in 
the  minds  of  those  of  a  skeptical  turn 


xii  FOREWORD 

of  thought  at  the  apparently  inexhausti- 
ble stock  of  these  letters.  Whence  does 
M.  Barres  get  all  these  epistles  d'outre 
tombe?  In  "Les  Diverses  Families 
Spirituelles  de  la  France,"  M.  Barres 
himself  answers  this  question  when  he 
speaks  of  "the  millions  of  sublime 
letters,  which,  for  the  past  two  years, 
have  furnished  France  her  spiritual 
food,  .  .  .  these  innumerable  letters, 
perhaps  a  million  a  day."  And  it 
should  be  remembered  that  the  number 
of  young  men  at  the  front  who  write 
them  is  an  almost  constant  number  and 
will  continue  to  be  so  until  the  end  of 
the  war,  for  each  year  the  new  "class," 
composed  mostly  of  boys  from  nineteen 
to  twenty,  enters  upon  its  military  duties 
in  the  trenches. 

Other  readers  of  these  letters  may 
ask  whether  all  the  soldier  boys  of 
France  write  like  those  presented  to  the 
public  by  M.  Barres.  Without  giving 
a  direct  answer  to  this  question,  I  may 
say  that  everybody  who  is  in  close  touch 
with  the  noble  France  of  to-day  has  had 


FOREWORD  tin 

experiences  similar  to  those  of  M. 
Barres. 

During  the  first  fourteen  months  of 
this  war  I  served  as  an  orderly  in  a 
large  military  hospital  near  Paris  where 
we  had  some  six  hundred  wounded.  My 
duties  were  to  write  letters  for  those 
young  Frenchmen  who  were  incapaci- 
tated in  any  way  from  writing  for  them- 
selves, and  I  can  say  that  I  often  helped 
to  put  on  paper  just  such  thoughts  as 
those  found  in  the  letters  revealed  to  us 
by  M.  Barres,  while  during  my  present 
sojourn  in  the  United  States  I  have 
received  directly  or  indirectly  letters  of 
this  same  tenor. 

Thus,  a  retired  artillery  officer, 
Major  Levylier,  of  Decauville,  Calva- 
dos, wrote  me  last  winter: 

"My  son,  Lieutenant  Paul  Levylier, 
of  the  25th  regiment  of  dragoons,  was 
completing  his  second  year  in  archi- 
tecture at  the  Paris  School  of  Fine  Arts, 
when  the  war  broke  out.  At  the  mo- 
ment of  mobilization  he  wrote  to  his 
elder  sister  and  asked  her  in  case  of  his 


xiv  FOREWORD 

death  to  request  me  to  give  the  neces- 
sary capital  to  found  a  prize  at  the 
school;  which  I  have  done.  His  letter 
ended  with  these  words  for  the  rest  of 
the  family:  'Tell  them  to  close  their 
eyes;  then  you  kiss  them  and  they  will 
think  it  is  I.'  He  died  bravely  in  Cham- 
pagne on  October  6,  1915,  crushed  by  a 
shell,  at  the  head  of  his  platoon.  His 
last  words  to  his  captain  were:  'Tell 
Father  that  I  died  for  France.' ' 

M.  Charles  Torquet,  the  Paris  dram- 
atist and  the  literary  executor  of  the 
young  poet,  Jacques  de  Choudens, 
severely  wounded  in  August,  1914,  and 
killed  the  following  June,  sends  me  these 
wt>rds  which  this  superb  youth  wrote 
from  the  front  to  his  grandmother:  "If 
I  do  not  come  back,  find  consolation  in 
this  grander  thought  that  I  have  con- 
tributed in  my  humble  way  to  make  thee 
more  proud  to  be  a  French  woman." 

Another  youthful  soldier-poet,  Gus- 
tave  Rouger,  sends  me  from  a  military 
hospital  in  the  south  of  France,  where 
he  is  convalescing,  these  lines,  which 


FOREWORD  xv 

seem  to  breathe  a  premonition  like  that 
also  expressed  by  Jacques  de  Choudens 
when  he  was  on  the  point  of  returning 
to  the  front,  that  he  "may  never  come 
back,"  and  which  end  a  long  poem,  still 
in  manuscript,  which  has  just  been 
awarded  the  literary  prize  of  the  Paris 
Society  of  Men  of  Letters: 

Quand  eclatera  la  fleur  epanouie, 
Avant    que    dlci-bas    ma    pauvre    ame 

s'enfuie, 
Ah,    laissez-moi    chanter,    mon    Dieu, 

chanter  toujours, 
Avec    tout    mon    elan    vers    la    sainte 

demeure, 
Ou  vos  bras  s'ouvriront  pour  m'accueil- 

lir  un  jour, 
Ah,  laissez-moi  chanter,  avant  que  je  ne 

meure, 
L'Eternelle     Beaute     dans     1'Eternel 

Amour. 

THEODORE  STANTON. 
Cornell  Campus,  October,  1917. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Foreword  by  Theodore  Stanton  .  v 

Introduction I 

I 4 

II 35 

III                               ....  46 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF 
FRANCE 

AN  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  IN  LONDON, 
AT  THE  HALL  OF  THE  ROYAL  SO- 
CIETY, UNDER  THE  AUSPICES  OF  THE 

BRITISH  ACADEMY,  JULY  12,  1916. 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen: 

In  his  Litany  of  Nations  your  poet 
Swinburne  puts  these  words  into 
the  mouth  of  France  apostrophizing 
Liberty : 

I   am  she  that  was  thy  sign  and   standard- 
bearer, 

Thy  voice  and  cry ; 
She  that  washed  thee  with  her  blood  and  left 

thee  fairer, 
The  same  was  I. 
Were  not  these  the  hands  that  raised  thee 

fallen  and  fed  thee, 
These  hands  defiled? 
Was  not  I  thy  tongue  that  spake,  thine  eye 

that  led  thee, 
Not  I  thy  child  ? 


2        THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

How  many  men  and  how  many  na- 
tions, since  1870,  have  believed  that  we 
were  unworthy  of  this  eulogy  that  so 
touched  our  hearts.  We  were  mis- 
trusted. They  said  of  us:  "They  are 
no  longer  what  they  were  .  .  .  France 
is  a  nation  grown  old,  an  ancient 
nation." 

Especial  stress  was  laid  upon  the 
idea  of  France  as  an  old  nation.  And 
therein  they  expressed  but  the  truth; 
France  was  when  no  such  thing  existed 
as  Germanic  consciousness,  or  Italian  or 
English  consciousness ;  in  truth  we  were 
the  first  nation  of  all  Europe  to  grasp 
the  idea  of  constituting  a  home-land; 
but  there  seems  no  reason  why  claims 
of  such  a  nature  should  work  to  our 
discredit  with  nations  of  more  recent 
origin. 

Among  those  who  thus  spoke  there 
were  many  who  looked  upon  us  without 
animosity,  sometimes  even  with  sym- 
pathy. According  to  them  France  had 
in  the  past  laid  up  a  vast  store  of  vir- 
tues, noble  deeds,  and  glorious  achieve- 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE       3 

ments  beyond  compare,  but  to-day  is 
seated  in  the  midst  of  these  like  an  old 
man  in  the  evening  of  the  most  success- 
ful of  lives,  or  still  more  like  certain 
worldly  aristocrats  of  illustrious  line- 
age, who  have  preserved  of  their  inherit- 
ance only  their  titles  of  nobility,  charm- 
ing manners,  superb  portraits,  regal 
tapestries  and  books  adorned  with  coats 
of  arms,  all  denoting  sumptuous  but 
trivial  luxury. 

It  was  in  this  wise,  as  we  well  under- 
stand, that  we  had  come  to  be  regarded 
as  jaded  triflers,  far  too  affluent  and 
light-hearted,  with  pleasure  as  our  only 
concern;  the  French  people  were  sup- 
posed to  allow  impulse  and  passion 
to  determine  the  course  of  their  lives, 
pleasure  being  the  supreme  good  sought, 
and  to  Paris  came  representatives  from 
every  nation  to  share  in  this  pleasure. 

Small  wonder  that  the  undiscerning 
foreigner,  intoxicated  by  the  easy  and 
cosmopolitan  pleasures  of  Paris,  failed 
to  recognize  the  underlying  force  pres- 
ent at  every  French  fireside,  which 


4        THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

prides  itself  upon  keeping  remote  and 
isolated  from  the  passing  crowd,  or 
what  was  stirring  in  hearts  ever  hearken- 
ing the  call  to  a  crusade  and  needing,  as 
it  were,  but  the  voice  from  a  super- 
natural world  to  bring  forth  and  reveal 
to  themselves  their  inherent  heroism. 


August,  1914.  The  call  to  arms  re- 
sounds. The  bells  in  every  village  echo 
in  the  towers  of  the  ancient  churches 
whose  foundations  arise  from  amidst 
the  dead.  These  bells  have  suddenly 
become  the  voice  of  the  land  of  France. 
They  call  together  the  men,  they  express 
compassion  for  the  women ;  their  clamor 
is  so  stupendous  that  it  seems  as  if  the 
very  tombs  would  crumble,  and  all  at 
once  the  French  heart  is  unlocked  and 
all  the  tenderness  that  has  so  long  been 
kept  concealed  comes  forth. 

Women,  old  men  and  children  flock 
about  the  soldier,  following  him  to  the 
train.  This  is  the  hour  of  departure, 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE       5 

not  as  Rude  has  depicted  it, — carried 
along  in  the  storm  and  stress  of  the 
Marseillaise,  but  a  departure  even  more 
tragic  in  tone,  in  which  the  soldier 
mutters  through  set  teeth:  "Since  they 
will  have  it,  we  must  end  it  forever." 

The  departure!  We  cannot  be  at 
the  same  moment  in  all  the  railroad  sta- 
tions of  Paris  and  of  all  our  cities,  towns 
and  villages,  on  all  the  docks,  nor  upon 
all  the  boats  bringing  back  loyal  French- 
men from  abroad.  Suppose  we  go  to 
the  very  heart  of  military  France,  to  the 
school  of  Saint  Cyr  where  the  young 
officers  receive  their  training. 

Every  year  at  Saint  Cyr  the  Fete  du 
Triomphe  is  celebrated  with  great 
pomp.  Upon  this  occasion  is  per- 
formed a  traditional  ceremony  in  which 
the  young  men  who  have  just  finished 
their  two  years'  course  at  the  school 
proceed  to  christen  the  class  following  it 
and  bestow  a  name  upon  their  juniors. 

In  July,  1914,  this  ceremony  came 
just  at  the  time  of  the  events  which  in 
their  hasty  course  brought  on  the  war, 


6       THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

and  for  that  reason  was  to  assume  a 
more  than  usually  serious  character. 

On  the  thirty-first  of  the  month  the 
general  in  command  at  the  school  made 
known  to  the  Montmirails  (the  name 
of  the  graduating  class),  that  they 
would  have  to  christen  their  juniors 
that  same  evening,  and  only  according 
to  military  regulations,  without  the 
accustomed  festivities. 

All  understood  that  perhaps  during 
the  night  they  would  have  to  join  their 
respective  regiments. 

Listen  to  the  words  of  a  young  poet 
of  the  Montmirail  class,  Jean  Allard- 
Meeus,  as  he  tells  his  mother  of  the 
events  of  this  evening,  already  become 
legendary  among  his  compatriots: 
"After  dinner  the  Assumption  of  Arms 
(prise  d'armes)  before  the  captain  and 
the  lieutenant  on  guard  duty,  the  only 
officers  entitled  to  witness  this  sacred 
rite.  A  lovely  evening;  the  air  is  filled 
with  almost  oppressive  fragrance;  the 
most  perfect  order  prevails  amidst  un- 
broken silence.  The  Montmirails  are 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE        ; 

drawn  up,  officers  with  swords,  'men' 
with  guns.  The  two  classes  take  their 
places  on  the  parade  ground  under  com- 
mand of  the  major  of  the  higher  class. 
Excellent  patriotic  addresses,  then,  in 
the  midst  of  growing  emotion,  I  recited 

'TO-MORROW' 

Soldiers  of  our  illustrious  race, 

Sleep,  for  your  memories  are  sublime. 

Old  time  erases  not  the  trace 

Of  famous  names  graved  on  the  tomb. 

Sleep;  beyond  the  frontier  line 
Ye  soon  will  sleep,  once  more  at  home. 

"Never  again,  dearest  mother,  shall  I 
repeat  those  lines,  for  never  again  shall 
I  be  on  the  eve  of  departure  for  out 
there,  amongst  a  thousand  young  men 
trembling  with  feverish  excitement, 
pride  and  hatred.  Through  my  own 
emotion  I  must  have  touched  upon  a 
responsive  chord,  for  I  ended  my  verses 
amidst  a  general  thrill.  Oh,  why  did 
not  the  clarion  sound  the  Call  to  Arms 
at  their  close!  We  should  all  have 


8       THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

carried  its  echoes  with  us  as  far  as  the 
Rhine." 

It  was  surrounded  by  this  atmosphere 
of  enthusiasm  that  the  young  officers  re- 
ceived the  title  of  Croix  du  Drapeau  for 
their  class  upon  their  promotion  and  it 
was  at  this  juncture  that  one  of  the 
Montmirails,  Gaston  Voizard,  cried 
out:  "Let  us  swear  to  go  into  battle  in 
full  dress  uniform,  with  white  gloves 
and  the  plume  (casoar)  in  our  hats." 

"We  swear  it,"  made  answer  the  five 
hundred  of  the  Montmirail. 

"We  swear  it,"  echoed  the  voices  of 
the  five  hundred  of  the  Croix  du 
Drapeau. 

A  terrible  scene  and  far  too  char- 
acteristically French,  permeated  by  the 
admirable  innocence  and  readiness  to 
serve  of  these  young  men,  and  per- 
meated, likewise,  with  disastrous  con- 
sequences. 

They  kept  their  rash  vow.  It  is  not 
permissible  for  me  to  tell  you  the  pro- 
portion of  those  who  thus  met  death. 
These  attractive  boys  of  whom  I  have 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE        p 

been  telling  you  are  no  more.  How 
have  they  fallen? 

There  were  not  witnesses  in  all  cases, 
but  they  all  met  death  in  the  same  way 
as  did  Lieutenant  de  Fayolle. 

On  the  twenty-second  of  August  Alain 
de  Fayolle  of  the  Croix  du  Drapeau  was 
at  Charleroi  leading  a  section.  His 
men  hesitate.  The  young  sub-lieutenant 
has  put  on  his  white  gloves  but  dis- 
covers that  he  has  forgotten  his  plume. 
He  draws  from  his  saddle-bag  the  red 
and  white  plume  and  fastens  it  to  his 
shako. 

"You  will  get  killed,  my  lieutenant," 
protested  a  corporal. 

"Forward!"  shouts  the  young  officer. 

His  men  follow  him,  electrified.  A 
few  moments  later  a  bullet  strikes  him 
in  the  middle  of  his  forehead,  just  below 
the  plume. 

On  the  same  day,  August  22,  1914, 
fell  Jean  Allard-Meeus,  the  poet  of  the 
Montmirail,  struck  by  two  bullets. 

Gaston  Voizard,  the  youth  who  sug- 
gested the  vow,  outlived  them  by  only 


10      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

a  few  months.  He  seems  to  offer 
apologies  for  this  in  the  charming  and 
heart-breaking  letter  which  follows. 

December  25,  1914. 

"It  is  midnight,  Mademoiselle  and 
good  friend,  and  in  order  to  write  to 
you  I  have  just  removed  my  white 
gloves.  (This  is  not  a  bid  for  admira- 
tion. The  act  has  nothing  of  the  heroic 
about  it;  my  last  colored  pair  adorn  the 
hands  of  a  poor  foot-soldier  (pioii- 
piou)  who  was  cold.) 

"I  am  unable  to  find  words  to  express 
the  pleasure  and  emotion  caused  me  by 
your  letter  which  arrived  on  the  even- 
ing following  a  terrific  bombardment  of 
the  poor  little  village  which  we  are 
holding.  The  letter  was  accepted 
among  us  as  balm  for  all  possible  rack- 
ing of  nerves  and  other  curses.  That 
letter,  which  was  read  in  the  evening  to 
the  officers  of  my  battalion, — I  ask 
pardon  for  any  offence  to  your  modesty, 
— comforted  the  most  cast  down  after 
the  hard  day  and  gave  proof  to  all  that 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     11 

the  heart  of  the  young  girls  of  France 
is  nothing  short  of  magnificent  in  its 
beneficence. 

"It  is,  as  I  have  said,  midnight.  To 
the  honor  and  good  fortune  which  have 
come  to  me  of  commanding  my  com- 
pany during  the  last  week,  (our  captain 
having  been  wounded),  I  owe  the 
pleasure  of  writing  you  at  this  hour 
from  the  trenches,  where,  by  prodigies 
of  cunning,  I  have  succeeded  in  lighting 
a  candle  without  attracting  the  attention 
of  the  gentlemen  facing  us,  who  are,  by 
the  way,  not  more  than  a  hundred 
meters  distant. 

"My  men,  under  their  breath,  have 
struck  up  the  traditional  Christmas 
hymn,  'He  is  born,  the  Child  Divine.' 
The  sky  glitters  with  stars.  One  feels 
like  making  merry  over  all  this,  and, 
behold,  one  is  on  the  brink  of  tears.  I 
think  of  Christmases  of  other  years 
spent  with  my  family;  I  think  of  the 
tremendous  effort  still  to  be  made,  of 
the  small  chance  I  have  for  coming  out 
of  this  alive ;  I  think,  in  short,  that  per- 


12     THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

haps  this  minute  I  am  living  my  last 
Christmas. 

"Regret,  do  you  say?  .  .  .  No,  not 
even  sadness.  Only  a  tinge  of  gloom  at 
not  being  among  all  those  I  love. 

"All  the  sorrow  of  my  thoughts  is 
given  to  those  best  of  friends  fallen  on 
the  field  of  honor,  whose  loyal  affection 
had  made  them  almost  my  brothers; — 
Allard,  Fayolle,  so  many  dear  friends 
whom  I  shall  never  see  again!  When 
on  the  evening  of  July  31,  in  my  capa- 
city of  Pere  Systeme  of  the  Class  of 
1914  (promotion),  I  had  pronounced 
amidst  a  holy  hush  the  famous  vow  to 
make  ourselves  conspicuous  by  facing 
death  wearing  white  gloves,  our  good- 
hearted  Fayolle,  who  was,  I  may  say, 
the  most  of  an  enthusiast  of  all  the 
friends  I  have  ever  known,  said  to  me 
with  a  grin:  'What  a  stunning  impres- 
sion we  shall  make  upon  the  Boches! 
They  will  be  so  astounded  that  they  will 
forget  to  fire.'  But,  alas,  poor  Fayolle 
has  paid  dearly  his  debt  to  his  country 
for  the  title  of  Saint-Cyrien  I  And  they 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     13 

are  all  falling  around  me,  seeming  to 
ask  when  the  turn  of  their  Pere  Systeme 
is  to  come,  so  that  Montmirail  on  enter- 
ing Heaven  may  receive  God's  blessing 
with  full  ranks. 

"But  a  truce  to  useless  repinings !  Let 
us  give  thought  only  to  our  dear  France, 
our  indispensable,  imperishable,  ever- 
living  country!  And,  by  this  beauteous 
Christmas  night,  let  us  put  our  faith 
more  firmly  than  ever  in  victory. 

"I  must  ask  you,  Mademoiselle  and 
good  friend,  to  excuse  this  awful  scrawl. 
Will  you  also  allow  me  to  hope  for  a 
reply  in  the  near  future  and  will  you 
permit  this  young  French  officer  very 
respectfully  to  kiss  the  hand  of  a  great 
souled  and  generous-hearted  maiden  of 
France?" 

On  the  eighth  of  April,  1915,  came 
his  turn  to  fall. 

Ah,  how  dearly  has  France  ever  paid 
for  the  flaunting  of  these  bits  of  bravery 
in  the  face  of  the  foe!  One  can  but 
approve  the  austere  severity  of  the  great 
commanders  who  discouraged  the  gen- 


14      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

erous  impulse  of  these  boys  thus  lavish 
of  the  treasure  of  their  lives.  War  pro- 
vides the  leaders  of  men  with  enough 
occasions  for  useful  sacrifice  without 
taking  it  upon  themselves  to  invite  a 
fatal  ending.  But  we  must  not  overlook 
the  fact  that  these  leaders  of  men  are 
but  boys.  Sudden  stress  of  circum- 
stances has  called  them  to  the  battle- 
front.  They  feel  a  necessity  for  estab- 
lishing their  leadership.  But  how?  By 
their  superior  knowledge  or  experience? 
No  means  is  open  to  them  except 
through  gallantry  in  attempting  some 
deed  of  exceptional  daring. 

That  is  evidently  the  idea  which  one 
of  them,  Georges  Bosredon,  a  twenty- 
year-old  Saint-Cyrien,  had  in  mind 
when  in  writing  to  his  sister  he  puts  the 
matter  thus  forcibly : 

"Say  nothing  about  it  to  Father  and 
Mother,  but,  as  an  officer,  I  run  small 
chance  of  returning.  I  fully  recognize 
this  and  gladly  from  this  hour  offer  my 
life  as  a  sacrifice.  We  shall  arrive  at 
the  front  very  young,  with  nothing 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE      15 

especial  to  recommend  us,  to  be  put  in 
command  of  men  who  have  seen  service, 
already  old  soldiers.  To  keep  them 
going  we  shall  have  to  give  all  we  have 
and  we  shall  give  it." 

Generous-hearted  youth,  who  makes 
no  mention  of  mistakes  made  before  he 
was  born,  and  who,  just  arriving  upon 
the  scene,  accepts  as  .only  natural  that 
he  should  pay  with  his  life  for  victory! 

In  all  our  great  schools  and  in  all  our 
colleges  the  boys  are  brothers  to  these 
young  military  commanders.  To  them 
all  one  thing  alone  is  of  importance: 
that  France  should  no  longer  remain  a 
vanquished  nation.  These  are  the 
young,  the  pure,  the  source  of  new  life, 
the  sacrificial  offering  of  their  native 
land.  They  stand  ready  to  accept  any 
burden  laid  upon  them  to  render  them 
worthy  of  their  forefathers,  to  fulfill 
their  destiny  and  to  ransom  France. 

The  college  professors  made  no  mis- 
take in  judging  of  them.  For  some 
years  they  had  heralded  the  oncoming 
of  a  generation  of  clear-eyed  youths, 


16      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

with  confident  bearing  and  hearts  know- 
ing no  fear.  Destiny  was  preparing 
deliverers  for  France.  "Whence  issues 
tHe  France  of  August  2nd?"  exclaims 
one  of  the  masters  of  the  Lycee  Janson- 
de-Sailly.*  "From  beneath  the  threat 
of  Germany  under  which  it  has  been 
bowed  down  for  forty  years.  This 
anguish,  this  prolonged  humiliation, 
gives  place  at  last  to  highest  hopes." 

Such  are  the  young  men  of  our  nation. 
But  war  has  brought  together  into  the 
army  the  entire  male  population  from 
eighteen  to  forty-eight  years  of  age. 

Naturally  a  man  of  forty  does  not 
leave  home  with  that  intoxication  of 
happiness  that  we  have  just  observed  in 
our  young  Saint-Cyriens.  He  no  longer 
feels  that  "criminal  love  of  danger" 
which  Tolstoi,  talking  near  the  end  of 
his  long  life  with  Deroulede,  acknowl- 
edged to  have  himself  felt  in  his  youth. 
This  is  due  in  part  to  the  cooling  of  the 
blood;  it  is  also  due  to  the  opening  up 
of  a  new  horizon. 

*M.  S.  Rocheblave. 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     17 

In  starting  a  home  of  his  own  the 
young  man  of  yesterday  has  taken  upon 
himself  certain  duties  of  protection 
toward  his  family.  How  can  he  be  ex- 
pected to  show  the  magnificent  impetu- 
osity of  the  Saint-Cyrien  who  says:  "To 
be  a  young  officer  during  the  war  is 
truly  the  career  in  which  are  to  be 
reaped  one  after  another  the  rewards 
of  honor,  energy  and  devotion."*  The 
father  of  a  family  has  already  gathered 
to  himself  the  rewards  of  life;  he  has  to 
forsake  them  and,  if  he  fails  in  the 
beauty  of  alacrity,  what  he  manifests  is 
the  beauty  of  a  sacrifice  always  con- 
templated. This  sense  of  the  sacrifice 
he  is  making  is  felt  also  by  the  younger 
man,  but  he  hastily  dismisses  appre- 
hension on  this  score,  will  not  admit  it 
so  much  as  to  himself,  and  meeting  it 
face  to  face,  rejects  it  with  anger.  The 
older  soldier,  on  the  contrary,  welcomes 
it  and  regards  it  as  meritorious,  it  may 
be  as  an  offering  to  God,  or  it  may  be  as 
an  offering  to  his  native  land. 

*Jean  Allard-Meeus  in  a  letter  to  his  mother. 


i8      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

Gemens  spero  was  the  motto  as- 
sumed in  the  mud  of  the  Artois  trenches, 
by  the  soldier  Frangois  Laurentie,  the 
father  of  six  children.  He  indeed  suf- 
fered, but  was  cheered  by  the  hope  that 
his  offspring  would  not  have  to  suffer. 
All  testamentary  letters  issuing  from  the 
trenches  echo  the  same  refrain.  The 
Territorial  fights  that  his  children  may 
not  be  called  upon  to  fight.  He  makes 
war  to  abolish  war. 

But  he  fights  also  for  his  native  land. 
What  must  have  been  the  feeling  of  the 
men  of  the  Twentieth  Corps  shedding 
their  blood  before  Nancy  and  before 
Verdun !  And  we  can  picture  the  emo- 
tion of  the  men  of  Peguy,  those  citizens 
of  the  Belleville  and  Bercy  quarters  of 
Paris,  when,  at  the  end  of  their  retreat 
in  September,  1914,  they  caught  sight  of 
the  great  city  enveloped  in  mist, — Paris, 
to  whose  defence  they  were  hastening. 
One  of  these,  Victor  Boudon,  who  had 
been  wounded  at  the  Battle  of  the 
Ourcq,  writes  on  that  occasion:  "From 
afar  we  could  discern  the  white  rays  of 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     19 

the  searchlights  on  the  forts  of  Paris 
and,  from  time  to  time,  through  the 
foliage  the  lights  of  the  capital  itself. 
Our  hearts  beat  violently  with  joy  and 
with  dread." 

Another  soldier,  a  shrewd  observer 
of  these  beginnings  of  the  campaign, 
thus  sums  up  his  testimony:  "An  all- 
pervading  atmosphere  of  devout  offer- 
ing." 

And  what  does  the  war  make  of  these 
youths  and  old  men?  A  brotherhood. 
Binet-Valmer,  enlisted  as  a  volunteer 
for  the  duration  of  the  war,  sends  me 
from  the  front  where  he  is  fighting  this 
most  wonderful  phrase,  which  echoes 
the  feeling  of  all :  "Our  men  are  worthy 
of  unstinted  admiration,  and  we  all  love 
one  another." 

The  men  are  admirable,  that  is  to 
say,  they  are  ready  to  sacrifice  them- 
selves. Behold  these  soldiers  volun- 
teering for  the  mo.st  perilous  services, — 
soldiers  who  go  of  their  own  motion  to 
carry  off  wounded  comrades  from  be- 
tween the  trenches  and  to  bury  the  dead ; 


20      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

it  is  needless  to  enumerate  such  occur- 
rences or  to  present  proof  of  them.  It 
is  recognized  that  the  sons  of  France 
are  brave.  And  throughout  the  world 
everyone  knows  about  the  battle  which 
has  been  going  on  for  five  months  and 
which  we  may  rightfully  call  the  victory 
of  Verdun. 

But,  it  may  be  urged,  the  men  in  the 
other  armies  also  are  brave. 

A  striking  fact,  and  one  which 
especially  impressed  your  great  Rud- 
yard  Kipling  as  glorious  to  a  degree 
seen  nowhere  else,  is  the  attachment  felt 
by  the  French  soldiers  to  their  com- 
manders, and  by  the  officers  to  their 
men,  and  the  loyalty  of  all  to  one 
another. 

Between  them  no  falsehood  is  pos- 
sible. In  that  life  truth  prevails  among 
all.  At  the  outset  there  was  some  evi- 
dence of  extreme  republicanism  (sans- 
culottisme),  a  sort  of  scoffing  spirit  in 
which  there  survived  in  the  citizen  sol- 
dier an  excessive  feeling  of  independ- 
ence in  his  attitude  toward  his  com- 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE      21 

mander.  But  since  that  time,  under 
experiences  and  trials  shared  together, 
this  dangerous  feeling  has  been  de- 
veloped and  ennobled;  while  these  men 
preserve  toward  one  another  an  attitude 
of  criticism  as  severe  as  ever,  they  have 
adopted  as  a  standard  of  measurement 
the  service  rendered  to  the  common 
good.  They  no  longer  cleave  to  any 
but  those  manifesting  actual  superiority, 
whether  of  mind  or  heart. 

In  the  midst  of  the  carnage  these 
sons  of  France  constantly  recall  to  mind 
that  they  are  men  with  souls.  The  best 
of  them  raise  their  bloody  hands  toward 
Heaven  each  invoking  his  God.  Each 
one  of  them  is  taken  up  with  trying  to 
show  the  nobility  of  his  thought  through 
his  gallantry  and  self-sacrifice.  Each 
acts  as  if  he  knew  (and  he  does  know) 
that  the  people  of  his  faith  throughout 
all  France  have  entrusted  to  his  safe- 
keeping their  honor  and  the  fortunes  of 
the  ideal  for  which  they  all  are  striving. 
Our  schoolmasters  vie  with  our  priests 
in  their  efforts,  while  the  elite  of  the 


22      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

nation  and  their  brothers  in  arms  join 
in  admiration  equally  apportioned  be- 
tween them. 

Pere  Gironde  writes  in  his  private 
diary:  "To  so  conduct  myself  that  we 
cannot  again  be  sent  into  exile."  And 
Herve's  paper  publishes,  every  day, 
letters  forming  a  cult  in  themselves,  in 
which  the  Socialists  voice  the  question: 
"What  reproach  can  henceforth  be 
brought  against  us?  Is  our  faith  in 
internationalism  sufficiently  justified  now 
it  has  given  us  the  firm  will  to  save 
France  ?" 

All  are  actuated  by  a  lofty  moral 
purpose:  the  pride  and  necessity  of 
shedding  their  blood  only  in  a  just  cause. 

To  lift  us  to  the  heights  where  dwell 
the  soldiers  of  this  war  what  nobler 
example  of  spiritual  helpfulness  toward 
one  another  could  be  afforded  than  the 
devotion  shown  by  Lieutenant  Colonel 
Driant?  At  the  peril  of  his  life  Driant 
made  his  way  to  the  side  of  one  of  his 
lieutenants  lying  wounded,  and  under 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     23 

fire  of  the  enemy  received  his  confession 
and  gave  him  absolution. 

The  soil  of  the  trenches  is  holy 
ground;  it  is  saturated  with  blood,  it  is 
saturated  with  spirituality. 

This  intimate  brotherhood,  this  com- 
munity of  spirit,  continuing  throughout 
two  years  of  warfare,  results  in  giving 
to  certain  military  units  a  collective  soul. 
Certain  among  these  souls  are  char- 
acterized by  such  nobility,  sending  forth 
a  radiance  comparable  to  that  of  the 
Saints,  that  other  groups  receive  an  in- 
crement to  their  own  spirit  as  a  result, 
simply,  of  admiration  of  the  qualities 
thus  demonstrated. 

"It  was  in  Artois,  in  the  spring  of 
1915,"  as  a  young  soldier,  Roland  En- 
gerand,  related  to  me;  "my  regiment 
was  coming  from  a  quiet  sector  on  the 
Aisne  where  we  had  sustained  few 
losses.  The  day  before  we  had  received 
further  re-enforcement  from  the  class 
of  1915.  We  had  been  completely  fitted 
out  with  new  clothing.  Our  horizon- 
blue  uniforms  had  not  had  time  to  be 


24.      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

defaced  by  mud,  dust  and  rain ;  we  were 
overflowing  with  enthusiasm;  proudly, 
with  full  complement  of  officers  and  an 
officer  or  provisional  officer  at  the  head 
of  each  section,  our  columns,  three  thou- 
sand two  hundred  strong,  stretched  out 
along  the  way.  We  had  been  told  that 
we  were  going  to  a  sacred  spot  whither 
all  eyes  were  turned.  The  opening,  so 
long  dreamed  of,  had  been  virtually 
made  some  hours  before,  owing  to  un- 
heard-of feats  of  heroism  performed  by 
the  'Iron'  and  'Bronze'  divisions.  We 
were  to  relieve  these  troops  and,  as  we 
climbed  to  the  trenches  by  the  loveliest 
of  twilights,  we  began  to  ask  ourselves 
with  some  disquiet  whether  we  could 
rise  to  such  heights  of  valor,  for  it  is  no 
light  matter  to  come  next  in  succession 
to  such  a  record.  And,  suddenly,  upon 
the  road  before  us,  illumined  by  the 
setting  sun  which  turned  every  object 
to  gold,  there  appeared  a  sturdy  group. 
Soldiers  were  approaching,  slowly,  with- 
out haste  and  without  noise;  men  in 
rags,  still  clad  in  the  old  dark-blue  uni- 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE      25 

forms,  much  torn  and  soiled  with  mire 
and  blood;  guns  fouled  and  rusty;  shoes 
unworthy  the  name;  red  kepis,  ill-con- 
cealed by  tatters  of  blue  coverings,  and, 
amidst  all  of  this,  superb  countenances, 
dirty,  unshaven,  with  the  poor  features 
drawn  and  stiffened  and  eyes  whose 
gaze  penetrated  to  our  very  souls,  for 
therein  were  reflected  all  the  sublime 
sights  witnessed  during  the  two  weeks 
just  passed.  What  radiance  emanated 
from  these  faces  of  ecstatic  suffering 
and  victory!  They  passed  close  to  us, 
these  men;  looking  upon  us  with  curi- 
osity, marveling  at  our  luxurious  ap- 
pointments and  at  our  numbers,  and, 
while  filing  past,  said  to  us  simply: 
'Don't  worry.  Keep  up  your  courage; 
they're  done  for.'  All  joined  in  saying: 
'They're  done  for.'  There  were  voices 
amongst  these  distinguishable  as  young, 
voices  of  Parisians,  voices  of  harsher 
accent,  voices  from  the  east,  and,  at 
the  last,  the  voice  with  an  Alsatian 
accent  which  flung  out  to  us  from  the 
rear  rank:  'Les  Ranches,  they're  done 


26     THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

for.'  That  was  all  that  they  recalled 
after  all  their  sufferings.  Their  cap- 
tain looked  upon  them  in  silence  with 
an  expression  of  wondrous  affection. 

"And  while  we,  much  moved  by  this 
encounter,  advanced  up  the  slope  to  take 
their  place,  they  disappeared  from  sight 
with  their  weary,  triumphant  step. 

"That  day  I  understood  what  the 
real  beauty  of  glory  is." 

What  sublimity  in  the  last  word 
uttered  by  this  boy!  It  is  thus  that 
hearts  of  true  nobility  are  set  aflame  by 
contact  with  heroism.  It  is  thus  that 
the  spirit  of  the  population  along  the 
eastern  border  of  France,  instilled  into 
the  Twentieth  Corps  at  its  inception  and 
perpetuated  by  it,  circulates  among  other 
souls,  kindling  them  into  flame. 

And  sometimes  this  aggregate  soul 
finds  voice. 

To-day  throughout  the  world  every- 
one knows  about  an  incident  which 
innumerable  newspaper  and  magazine 
articles,  prints  and  poems  have  brought 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE      27 

before  the  public.  Doubtless  you  will 
recall  it.  The  Germans  had  entered  a 
trench  and  shattered  all  resistance;  our 
soldiers  lay  stretched  to  earth,  when, 
suddenly,  from  this  heap  of  dead  and 
wounded,  one  arises  and,  seizing  a  sack 
of  grenades  within  reach  of  his  hand, 
cries  out:  uTo  your  feet,  ye  dead  men." 
With  a  rush  the  invader  is  swept  back. 
The  inspired  word  had  caused  a  resur- 
rection. 

I  was  anxious  to  know  the  hero  of 
this  immortal  deed, — Lieutenant  Peri- 
card.  Here  is  the  tale  as  he  told  it  to 
me: 

"It  was  at  the  Bois-Brule  early  in 
April,  1915.  We  had  been  fighting  for 
three  days ;  there  was  only  a  handful  of 
worn-out  men  left  of  us  in  the  trench, 
absolutely  cut  off,  with  a  rain  of  gre- 
nades descending  upon  our  heads.  If 
the  Boches  had  known  how  few  we 
were !  Their  artillery  raged  incessantly. 
A  lieutenant,  whose'name  I  cannot  now 
recall,  and  who  had  come  to  my  support, 
stood  puffing  at  his  cigarette  and  laugh- 


28      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

ing  at  the  projectiles,  when  a  bullet 
struck  him  just  above  the  temple.  He 
leaned  against  the  parapet,  his  arms 
crossed  behind  him,  his  head  bent 
slightly  forward.  From  the  wound  the 
blood  gushes  out  describing  a  parabola, 
like  wine  through  a  gimlet-hole  in  the 
cask.  The  head  drops  further  and 
further  forward,  then  the  body,  then,  all 
at  once,  he  drops. 

"You  should  have  seen  the  anguish  of 
his  men,  who  threw  themselves  sobbing 
upon  his  body!  ...  It  was  impossible 
to  take  a  step  without  treading  upon  a 
corpse.  Suddenly  the  precariousness  of 
my  situation  comes  over  me.  The 
frenzy  which  had  transported  me  drops 
away.  I  am  afraid.  I  throw  myself 
behind  a  heap  of  sacks.  The  soldier 
Bonnot  remains  alone.  He  gives  no 
heed  to  anything,  but  continues  to  fight 
like  a  lion,  single-handed  against  what 
numbers ! 

"I  pull  myself  together;  his  example 
has  shamed  me.  A  few  comrades  rejoin 
us.  The  day  draws  to  a  close.  We 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     29 

cannot  remain  as  we  are.  To  the  right 
there  is  still  no  one  in  sight.  I  can  look 
along  the  trench  for  a  distance  of  thirty 
meters,  where  it  is  broken  into  by  an 
enormous  bomb-proof.  Supposing  I 
should  go  and  see  what  is  going  on  over 
beyond  there!  I  hesitate.  Then,  with 
one  resolute  effort,  the  decision  is  made. 
"The  trench  is  filled  with  bodies  of 
French  soldiers.  Blood  everywhere. 
At  the  first  I  step  forward  warily,  very 
uneasy.  What!  I  alone  among  all 
these  dead  men?  Then,  little  by  little, 
I  grow  bolder.  I  venture  to  look  at 
these  bodies  and  I  seem  to  see  their  eyes 
fixed  upon  me.  From  our  own  trench, 
behind  me,  men  are  gazing  at  me  with 
horror  in  their  eyes  in  which  I  can  read: 
'He  will  surely  get  killed.'  It  is  true 
that  from  the  screen  of  their  shelter 
trenches  the  Boches  are  redoubling  their 
efforts.  Their  grenades  are  falling  all 
about  and  the  avalanche  is  fast  ap- 
proaching. I  turn  back  toward  the 
bodies  stretched  out  on  the  earth.  I  can 
but  think:  'Then  their  sacrifice  is  all  to 


30      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

be  in  vain.  It  will  have  been  to  no  avail 
that  these  men  have  fallen.  And  the 
Boches  will  come  back.  And  they  will 
steal  our  dead  from  us!'  .  .  .1  was 
transported  with  rage.  Of  what  I  did 
or  precisely  what  I  said  I  no  longer 
have  any  clear  recollection.  I  only 
know  that  I  called  out  something  about 
like  this:  'Come  on  there!  Get  up! 
What  are  you  doing  lying  there?  Let's 
chase  these  swine  out  of  here.' 

"  'To  your  feet,  ye  dead  men!'  Was 
it  raving  madness?  No.  For  the  dead 
replied.  They  said  to  me:  'We  follow 
you.'  And,  rising  at  my  call,  their  souls 
mingled  with  mine  and  formed  a  flaming 
mass,  a  mighty  stream  of  molten  metal. 
Nothing  could  now  astonish  or  hinder 
me.  I  had  the  faith  which  removes 
mountains.  My  voice,  hoarse  and  frayed 
with  calling  out  orders  during  the  two 
days  and  night,  had  come  back  to  me, 
clear  and  strong. 

"What  took  place  then?  Since  I 
want  to  tell  you  only  of  what  I  can  my- 
self recall,  leaving  out  of  account  what 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     31 

has  been  related  to  me  afterward,  I 
must  frankly  own  that  I  do  not  know. 
There  is  a  gap  in  my  recollections; 
action  has  consumed  memory.  I  have 
but  a  vague  idea  of  a  disordered  offen- 
sive attack  in  which  Bonnot,  always  in 
the  front  rank,  stands  out  clearly  from 
the  others.  One  of  the  men  of  my  sec- 
tion, though  wounded  in  the  arm,  never 
ceased  hurling  upon  the  enemy  grenades 
stained  with  his  blood.  As  for  myself, 
it  seems  as  if  I  had  been  given  a  body 
which  had  grown  and  expanded  inordi- 
nately,— the  body  of  a  giant,  with  super- 
abundant, limitless  energy,  extraor- 
dinary facility  of  thought  which  enabled 
me  to  have  my  eye  in  ten  places  at  a 
time, — to  call  out  an  order  to  one  man 
while  indicating  an  order  to  another  by 
gesture, — to  fire  a  gun  and  protect 
myself  at  the  same  time  from  a  threaten- 
ing grenade. 

"A  prodigious  intensity  of  life 
coupled  with  extraordinary  episodes! 
On  two  occasions  we  ran  completely  out 
of  grenades,  and  on  two  occasions  we 


32      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

discovered  full  sacks  of  them  at  our 
feet,  mixed  in  with  the  sandbags.  All 
day  long  we  had  been  walking  over  them 
without  seeing  them.  But  no  doubt  it 
was  the  dead  who  had  placed  them 
there!  .  .  . 

"At  last  the  Boches  began  to  calm 
down;  we  had  a  chance  to  consolidate 
our  barricade  of  sacks  farther  along  in 
the  trench.  We  were  again  masters  of 
the  situation  in  our  angle. 

"Throughout  the  evening  and  for 
several  days  following  I  remained  under 
the  influence  of  the  spiritual  emotion  by 
which  I  had  been  carried  away  at  the 
time  of  the  summons  to  the  dead.  I 
had  something  of  the  same  feeling  that 
one  has  after  partaking  fervently  of  the 
communion.  I  recognized  that  I  had 
just  been  living  through  such  hours  as  I 
should  never  see  again,  during  which  my 
head,  having  by  violent  exertion  broken 
an  opening  through  the  ceiling,  had 
risen  into  the  region  of  the  supernatural, 
into  the  invisible  world  peopled  by  gods 
and  heroes. 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     33 

"At  that  moment,  certainly,  I  was 
lifted  up  above  myself.  It  must  have 
been  so,  for  I  received  the  congratula- 
tions of  my  men  upon  it.  To  any  one 
who  has  lived  in  company  with  the 
poilus  there  is  no  Legion  of  Honor 
which  is  to  be  compared  in  value  to  such 
congratulations. 

"If,  in  telling  you  of  these  events,  I 
seem  to  you  to  be  seeking  satisfaction 
to  my  vanity,  it  is  because  1  have  ill- 
expressed  my  feeling  and  my  intention. 
I  well  know  that  there  is  nothing*  of  the 
hero  about  me.  Every  time  that  I  have 
had  to  leap  over  the  parapet  I  have 
shivered  with  fright,  and  the  terror  with 
which  I  was  seized  in  the  press  of 
battle,  of  which  I  told  you  a  few  mo- 
ments ago,  is  not  an  accidental  occur- 
rence in  my  life  as  a  soldier.  I  have 
earned  no  approbation  of  any  sort.  It 
was  the  living  who  carried  me  along  by 
their  example,  and  the  dead  who  led 
me  by  the  hand.  The  summons  did  not 
issue  from  the  lips  of  a  man,  but  from 
the  hearts  of  all  those  lying  prostrate 


3t      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

there,  living  and  dead.  One  man  alone 
could  not  strike  the  keynote.  For  that 
is  needed  the  collaboration  of  many 
souls  uplifted  by  circumstances,  of 
whom  some  had  already  begun  their 
flight  into  eternity. 

"Why  was  it  that  I  was  chosen  rather 
than  some  officer  or  some  soldier  among 
those  who  were  concerned  in  the  affair, 
— one  whose  courage  had  not,  like  mine, 
known  faltering?  Why  was  it  I  rather 
than  Colonel  de  Belnay,  who  ran  up 
and  down  the  lines  under  a  downpour 
of  grenades;  or  Lieutenant  Erlaud,  or 
Sub-lieutenant  Pellerin,  or  Provisional 
Officer  Vignaud,  or  Sergeant  Prot,  or 
Corporal  Chuy,  or  Corporal  Thevin,  or 
Private  Bonnot?  (He  went  on  to 
mention  an  endless  number  besides 
these.)  Wherefore?  Because  one  may 
receive  inspiration  from  above  and  yet 
be  only  a  poor  ordinary  man. 

"If  ever  you  tell  this  tale  I  adjure  you 
to  give  the  names  of  all  these  com- 
manders and  these  soldiers,  for  it  would 
be  an  untruth  to  make  it  seem  as  if  I 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     35 

were  monopolizing  the  glory  of  our 
regiment's  great  day.  The  summons 
was  not  mine  alone,  it  was  that  of  us 
all.  The  more  you  sink  my  part  in  the 
whole  mass,  the  nearer  you  will  come 
to  actual  fact.  I  am  firmly  persuaded 
of  having  been  only  an  instrument  in 
the  hands  of  a  power  above." 

II 

Here  are  the  facts.  Here  at  least  is 
a  sample, — a  sample  of  the  wine  which 
for  two  years  has  been  fermenting  on 
our  hills,  of  the  wheat  of  our  furrows 
and  of  the  blood  of  our  battles. 

But  in  all  this  is  there,  after  all,  any- 
thing unheard-of  or  unexpected?  It  is 
fruit  produced  by  France,  similar  to  that 
which  this  ancient  nation  has  yielded  so 
many  times  throughout  the  centuries  of 
her  existence;  it  is  the  wine,  the  wheat, 
the  blood  of  all  our  epics.  We  may 
recognize  in  our  past  a  prototype  of 
each  one  of  the  qualities  and  exploits 
which  we  have  just  observed.  The 


36      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

heroic  poems  (Chansons  de  Geste), 
the  Crusades,  all  the  early  years  of 
France,  abound  with  innumerable  deeds 
achieved  by  our  knights  and  by  the 
Sancta  Plebs  Dei  which,  in  anticipation, 
usher  in  the  feats  inscribed  in  our  army 
reports  in  1916. 

The  mortal  vow  of  the  young  Saint- 
Cyriens — why  that  is  a  typical  episode 
of  our  Chansons  de  Geste.  There  is  no 
theme  which  they  develop  with  greater 
freshness  and  spirit  than  the  warlike 
alacrity,  purity  and  willing  obedience  of 
the  young  heroes,  the  Aymerillots,  the 
Rolands,  Guy  de  Bourgognes  in  their 
early  adolescence. 

When  the  Montmirails  and  the  Croix 
du  Drapeaus  take  their  oath  to  undergo 
their  baptism  of  fire  wearing  white 
gloves  and  with  the  plume  in  their 
kepis,  it  is  a  chapter  of  the  "Enfances 
Fivien"  brought  to  life  again. 

On  the  day  when  the  young  Vivien 
assumes  the  arms  of  a  knight  he  swears 
before  his  assembled  family  never  to 
give  ground  the  length  of  his  spear  in 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     37 

battle,  and  it  is  owing  to  that  oath  that 
he  comes  to  his  death. 

Gemens  spero;  this  is  the  thought 
which  the  recollection  of  his  six  children 
inspires  in  the  Territorial;  he  takes 
mournful  satisfaction  in  calling  them  to 
mind.  A  parallel  case  to  the  knight  of 
whom  Jacques  de  Vitry  tells  us,  who,  at 
the  moment  of  his  departure  for  the 
Crusade,  assembles  his  children  about 
him.  "I  had  them  all  come,"  he  ex- 
plains, "so  that  my  grief  at  parting 
should  be  the  more  poignant  and  thus 
make  offering  to  God  of  a  greater  sacri- 
fice." 

The  sense  of  equality  and  brother- 
hood prevailing  in  our  trenches.  .  .  . 
Joinville  relates  that  Saint  Louis  worked 
in  the  trenches  and  himself  shouldered 
the  carrying-basket. 

"None  is  base  until  his  actions  prove  him 
base." 

(Nuls  n'est  vilains  s'il  ne  fait  vilenie.) 

This  is  a  line  from  the  Chansons  de 
Geste,  as  it  might  equally  well  have  been 


38      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

a  line  from  Corneille,  as  it  likewise  is 
the  thought  of  every  man  and  woman 
in  France  in  1916.  During  the  Battle 
of  Antioch  the  Bishop  of  Puy  thus  ad- 
dressed the  Crusaders: 

"We  who  are  all  baptized  in  the 
name  of  Christ  are  all  the  sons  of  God 
and  brothers  one  of  another.  .  .  .  Let 
us  wage  war,  then,  in  the  same  spirit, 
as  brothers."  And,  again,  it  is  the  Sire 
de  Bourlemont  who  speaks.  (Now 
Bourlemont  is  the  Seigniory  over  Dom- 
remy,  Jeanne  d'Arc's  birthplace,  and 
the  Sire  de  Bourlemont,  he  whose  grand- 
son was  destined  later  to  know  Jeanne 
d'Arc.)  To  Joinville,  who  was  starting 
for  the  Crusade,  the  Sire  de  Bourlemont 
gave  utterance  to  these  words: 

"Ye  are  about  to  betake  yourselves 
to  lands  beyond  the  seas;  now  it  be- 
hooves you  to  take  thought  against  the 
time  of  your  return,  for  no  Chevalier, 
be  he  poor  or  rich,  may  return  without 
suffering  disgrace  if  he  leave  in  the 
hands  of  the  Saracens  the  lowly  people 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE      39 

of    our   Lord   in   whose    company   he 
journeyed  forth." 

Driant  crawling  through  the  storm  of 
shot  and  shell  to  carry  absolution  to  a 
dying  lieutenant.  It  is  the  same  story 
as  that  of  William  of  Orange  coming  to 
the  rescue  of  his  nephew  Vivien  at  the 
Battle  of  Aliscamps.  He  is  too  late  in 
getting  there,  he  fights  at  great  length 
to  reach  him,  does  not  succeed  in  find- 
ing him  either  alive  or  dead.  Evening 
comes  on.  He  rides  about  the  field, 
very  weary.  From  his  brow,  encircled 
by  the  band  of  his  helmet,  drops  of 
blood  fall  as  from  the  crown  of  thorns. 
He  searches  in  vain  for  Vivien.  At  last 
upon  the  grass  at  his  feet  he  recognizes 
the  boy's  shield,  bristling  with  arrows. 
Further  on,  not  far  from  a  spring, 
under  the  spreading  branches  of  a  huge 
olive  tree,  lies  Vivien  insensible,  his 
pallid  hands  crossed  upon  his  breast. 
William  dismounts,  clasps  him  all  bleed- 
ing in  his  arms  and  weeps  over  him  as 
one  dead.  "Nephew  Vivien,  lovely 
youth,  this  is  a  piteous  end  to  your  deeds 


40      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

of  prowess  just  begun."  But,  little  by 
little,  the  boy  in  his  arms  shows  signs  of 
life,  he  opens  his  eyes;  he  had  "kept  his 
hold  on  life,"  knowing  that  William 
would  come.  Having  given  praise  to 
God,  William  of  Orange  asks  whether 
Vivien  desires  to  make  avowal  of  his 
sins  to  him  as  a  "true  confession."  "I 
am  thy  uncle,  no  one  here  is  nearer  to 
thee  than  I,  save  God  alone ;  in  his  stead 
and  place  I  will  be  thy  chaplain;  I  will 
stand  sponsor  to  thee  at  this  baptism." 
Vivien  makes  confession;  the  one  great 
sin  upon  his  soul  is  that  of  having  fled, 
as  he  believes,  contrary  to  his  vow. 
William  absolves  him,  then,  taking  the 
consecrated  wafer  from  his  alms-bag, 
administers  the  sacrament  to  the  dying 
youth.  Vivien  gives  up  the  ghost. 
Night  has  come,  William  could  now 
make  his  escape  alone  across  the  hostile 
lines.  And  yet,  when  the  moment  comes 
for  leaving  the  body  there,  he  is  seized 
with  compunction.  Desert  him  thus 
alone  in  the  gloom!  When  other 
fathers  lose  their  sons  in  death  do  they 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     41 

not  keep  watch  above  their  bodies 
through  the  night?  He  proceeds  to  tie 
his  horse  to  the  olive  tree  and  begins 
his  vigil.  Under  the  dense  shade 
Vivien's  body  diffuses  a  radiance  and  a 
perfume  as  of  balm  and  myrrh.  The 
night  is  mild  and  tranquil.  Standing 
beside  the  body  of  his  dead  boy  the 
count  weeps,  he  cannot  sate  his  mind 
with  what  he  beholds,  and,  letting  pass 
the  dawn,  he  waits  until  the  sun  be  com- 
pletely above  the  horizon  and  shining 
brightly.  Then,  having  repaired  the 
broken  latchets  of  his  helmet,  he  once 
more  kissed  his  nephew's  face  and 
gazed  upon  it  for  the  last  time.  Mount- 
ing into  the  saddle  he  took  his  way 
slowly  toward  the  road  held  by  the 
Saracens  until  within  bow-shot  of  the 
enemy  when,  shouting  his  battle-cry,  he 
charged  with  his  ashen  lance  in  rest. 

To  your  feet,  ye  dead  men!  Surely 
we  have  heard  before  the  wonder-work- 
ing summons  of  the  Bois  d'Ailly.  At 
the  siege  of  Ascalon  the  Templars  be- 
hold, exposed  above  the  gate  of  the  city, 


42      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

a  number  of  their  brethren,  hanged  by 
the  Saracens.  They  are  filled  with  de- 
spondency and  are  for  raising  the  siege; 
which  seeing,  the  Grand  Master  of  the 
Templars  said  to  them:  "Behold  the 
dead  are  calling  to  us,  for  already  they 
have  taken  the  city." 

It  would  be  possible  to  multiply  to 
infinity  the  number  of  these  similarities, 
these  meeting  points  between  the 
younger  France  and  the  France  of  to- 
day, held  by  some  to  be  past  its  prime. 
Designers  of  the  stained  glass  in  our 
cathedrals  have  frequently  placed  figures 
from  the  ancient  Scriptures  in  juxta- 
position to  those  of  the  new ;  here  Jonah 
and  the  whale,  there  Christ  and  the 
tomb;  here  Moses  and  the  burning  bush, 
there  the  Virgin  beside  the  manger;  so 
I,  in  like  manner,  might  call  to  mind 
instances  without  number,  following  the 
same  rule  of  symmetry  for  setting  off 
the  likeness  between  the  grandsons  and 
their  forefathers,  and,  to  go  still  deeper, 
the  correspondences  between  this  war 
and  all  our  other  wars. 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE      43 

We  already  knew  the  Zouave  of  1914 
who,  from  the  middle  of  a  group  of 
prisoners  behind  which  the  Germans 
were  sheltering  themselves,  called  out 
to  the  French  soldiers:  "Fire  ahead  1" 
and  died,  riddled  by  their  bullets.  It  was 
nine  centuries  before  his  time  that  the 
Saracens  compelled  a  prisoner  taken 
from  the  Crusaders  to  mount  the  battle- 
ments of  Antioch  that  he  might  from 
there  entreat  his  brethren  to  give  up  the 
assault  upon  the  city.  Instead  he  called 
to  them  to  make  the  attack  and  the 
Saracens  revenged  themselves  by  cutting 
off  his  head.  Etienne  de  Bourbon  adds 
to  the  tale  that  the  head,  thrown  from 
the  top  of  the  walls  by  a  ballista,  came 
into  the  hands  of  the  Christians  where  it 
was  noted  that  the  countenance  wore  a 
smile  of  joy. 

Between  these  two  comes  the  Cheva- 
lier d'Assas,  the  young  soldier  so 
terribly  disfigured,  who  said:  "If  my 
father  should  see  me  now!  But  what 
does  it  matter!  He  did  not  beget  me 
to  be  handsome,  he  begot  me  to  be 


44      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

brave,"  into  which  assertion  he  evidently 
put  the  same  pride  as  Montluc  in  enu- 
merating his  seven  arquebuse  wounds, 
of  which  the  most  admirable  to  his 
mind  was  that  of  Rabastens  which  had 
torn  a  hole  in  his  face. 

And,  again,  there  was  Captain  de 

F who  averred  that:  "An  officer  of 

my  rank  who  does  his  duty  under  the 
circumstances  in  which  I  am  placed 
should  not  return  alive,"  evidence  of  a 
spirit  of  sacrifice  surpassing  the  word  of 
command  given  by  Godfrey  de  Bouillon 
at  the  time  of  the  last  assault  against 
Jerusalem  at  David's  Gate:  "Seek  not 
to  avoid  death,  go  rather  in  search  of 
it." 

The  poet  Charles  Perrot  was  killed 
before  Arras  on  the  twenty-third  of 
October;  one  of  his  comrades,  perceiv- 
ing that  he  was  ill,  said  to  him:  "I  am 
going  to  take  your  place.  You  have 
done  your  full  duty.  Go  and  get 
some  rest."  To  which  Perrot  replied: 
"There  is  no  end  to  doing  one's  duty." 
This  modern  poet  was  of  the  same  mind 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     45 

as  the  Chevalier  Erard  de  Sivry  who 
fought  at  the  side  of  Joinville  in  a 
ruined  house  at  Mansurah  with  five 
other  chevaliers  completing  the  garri- 
son. Horribly  wounded  in  the  face  he 
hesitates  at  going  to  seek  assistance  lest 
some  day  discredit  should  result  to  him 
and  »s  kindred.  "You  may  well  go," 
Joinville  assured  him,  "for  already  you 
are  a  dead  man" ;  but  he  was  not  to  be 
satisfied  with  Joinville's  opinion,  he  felt 
that  he  must  ask  counsel  one  by  one  of 
each  of  the  others. 

In  the  wood  of  La  Grurie  a  company 
of  the  I5ist  Regiment  of  Infantry  bars 
the  entrance  to  the  trench.  Three  men 
only  can  stand  abreast  at  that  spot. 
As  fast  as  one  falls  another  takes  his 
place.  The  combat  lasts  for  two  hours; 
thirty  men  thus  give  up  their  lives.  The 
incident  is  a  commonplace,  one  of 
almost  daily  occurrence. 

One  cannot  fail  to  be  reminded  of 
that  episode  of  the  Crusades  known  as 
"le  Pas  Saladin"  which  was  everywhere 
commemorated  and  depicted  in  castle 


4.6      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

halls.  It  was  your  King  Richard, 
Gautier  de  Chatillon,  Guillaume  des 
Barres  and  nine  other  knights  who 
were  holding  this  defile  before  Jaffa. 
Throughout  the  Middle  Ages  these 
twelve  men  were  looKed  upon  as  very 
mirrors  of  chivalry,  and  their  armorial 
bearings  were  preserved  as  precious 
relics.  But  we  shall  never  know  the 
names  of  the  grenadiers  of  the  wood  of 
La  Grurie  and  of  so  many  other 
trenches,  There  are  too  many  of  them. 

Ill 

For  more  than  a  thousand  years  now 
this  mighty  stream  of  feats  of  valor  has 
been  flowing  in  undiminished  volume. 
We  have  just  been  dipping  into  it;  we 
could  carry  away  from  the  passing 
flood  only  what  could  be  contained  in 
our  two  hands  held  together.  And  what 
about  it  all?  What  is  proved  by  these 
entrancing  and  heroic  achievements, 
this  life  beneath  the  surface,  this  over- 
flowing French  spirit? 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     47 

The  French  make  war  as  a  religious 
duty.  They  were  the  first  to  formulate 
the  idea  of  a  holy  war.  The  soldier  of 
the  year  II,  believing  himself  the  bearer 
of  liberty  and  equality  to  a  captive 
world,  dedicated  himself  with  the  same 
zeal  and  in  the  same  spirit  as  the  Cru- 
saders to  Jerusalem.  When  the  Cru- 
sader shouts  "God  wills  it,"  when  the 
volunteer  at  Valmy  shouts  "The  Repub- 
lic calls  us,"  it  is  but  another  form  of 
the  same  battle-cry.  The  idea  is  that 
of  bringing  about  more  of  justice  and 
more  of  beauty  in  the  world.  To  both 
a  voice  from  Heaven  or  their  con- 
science speaks,  saying: 

"If  you  die,  you  will  be  holy  martyrs."* 

It  is  not  in  France  that  wars  are 
entered  upon  for  the  sake  of  the  spoils. 
Wars  for  the  sake  of  honor  and  glory? 
Yes,  at  times.  But  to  carry  the  nation 
with  it  the  people  must  feel  itself  a 
champion  in  the  cause  of  God,  a  knight 

*Se  vous  mourez,  esterez  sainz  martirs.  La 
Chanson  de  Roland. — Archbishop  Turpin  before 
the  battle,  to  the  army  on  its  knees. 


48      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

upholding  justice.  We  have  to  be  con- 
vinced that  we  are  contending  against 
Barbarians, — in  former  days  against 
Islam,  at  the  present  time  against  Pan 
Germanism,  or  against  the  despotic 
Prussian  militarism  and  German  im- 
perialism. 

Frenchmen  fighting  in  defence  of 
their  country  have  believed  almost  al- 
ways that  they  were  suffering  and  endur- 
ing that  all  humanity  might  be  the 
better.  They  fight  for  their  territory 
filled  with  sepulchers  and  for  Heaven 
where  Christ  reigns,  and  up  to  which  at 
least  our  aspirations  rise.  They  die  for 
France,  as  far  as  the  purposes  of  France 
may  be  identified  with  the  purposes  of 
God  or  indeed  with  those  of  humanity. 
Thus  it  is  that  they  wage  war  in  the 
spirit  of  martyrs. 

Would  you  have  me  present  to  your 
minds  a  wonderful  theme;  would  you 
know  how  our  forefathers,  nine  centuries 
ago,  were  persuaded  to  go  on  Crusade? 
You  would  learn  at  the  same  time  how 
our  soldiers  of  the  present  day  ought  to 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     49 

be  addressed.  Listen  to  the  words  of 
Pope  Urban  II  (a  native  of  France, 
born  in  Champagne)  as  he  preached 
before  the  Council  of  Clermont  in 
Auvergne:  "People  of  France,"  he  said, 
"nation  elect  of  God,  as  is  shown  by 
your  deeds,  and  beloved  of  God,  dis- 
tinguished above  all  others  by  your 
devotion  to  the  holy  faith  and  to  the 
Church,  it  is  to  you*  that  our  word  and 
our  exhortation  is  directed.  .  .  .  Upon 
whom  may  be  laid  the  task  of  avenging 
the  outrageous  acts  of  the  Unbelievers 
if  not  upon  you,  Frenchmen,  to  whom 
God  has  vouchsafed  more  than  to  any 
other  people,  illustrious  distinction  in 
arms,  exalted  hearts  and  agile  bodies 
with  the  power  to  bend  those  who  oppose 
you?  May  your  souls  be  stirred  and 
quickened  by  the  deeds  of  your  ances- 
tors, the  valor  and  might  of  your  King 
Charlemagne,  of  his  son  Louis,  and  of 
your  other  kings,  who  have  overthrown 
the  dominion  of  the  heathen  and  ex- 
tended the  confines  of  the  Holy  Church ! 
.  .  .  O  very  valiant  knights,  offspring 


50      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

of  an  invincible  lineage,  recall  to  mind 
the  prowess  of  your  fathers!"  That 
was  the  right  way  to  put  things  before 
our  noble  ancestors.  And  that  is  how 
they  were  pleaded  with  by  Jeanne  d'Arc, 
who  called  herself  "the  Daughter  of 
God"  (FilleDieu).  Bonaparte  adopted 
the  same  tone  and  with  him  the  repub- 
lican generals,  and  it  is  still  the  same 
spirit  with  which  the  hearts  of  our 
soldiers  are  kindled  when  they  rush  for- 
ward out  of  the  trenches  singing  the 
Marseillaise  under  the  benison  of  their 
chaplains. 

Doubtless  reason  does  its  part  in 
affecting  and  convincing  us.  The  argu- 
ment is  used  that  France  is  a  real  and 
tangible  masterpiece  whose  outline  must 
be  perfected  and  maintained,  that 
Strasbourg  and  Metz  are  essential  to 
her  existence,  that  she  needs  to  establish 
the  balance  to  her  southern  population 
by  accessions  to  the  north  and  east,  that 
she  will  be  as  if  disarmed  and  open  to 
attack  as  long  as  she  remains  deprived 
of  her  natural  frontiers.  But  this  would 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     51 

still  leave  many  apathetic.  To  be  ready 
to  sacrifice  their  lives  the  sons  of  France 
demand  that  they  shall  not  die  for  the 
cause  of  France  alone. 

There  came  a  time  when  France 
burst  the  chain  of  her  traditions  and 
lost  from  sight  even  her  memories  of 
the  past;  nevertheless  to  her  spiritual 
nature  she  still  remained  faithful.  In 
each  succeeding  generation  she  has 
brought  forth  Rolands,  Godfreys  of 
Bouillon,  Bayards,  Turennes,  Marceaus, 
unfamiliar  as  these  names  might  have 
become,  and  at  all  times  she  is  elate  with 
sentiments  which  vary  only  in  form  of 
expression. 

The  epic  drowses  at  times,  but  never, 
from  the  beginning,  was  it  more  fired  by 
brotherly  love  and  zeal  for  religion  than 
at  the  present  hour.  Many  passages 
from  the  Old  Testament,  obscure  and 
of  small  moment  in  themselves,  do  not 
reveal  their  full  meaning  except  in  the 
light  of  the  New,  so  the  feats  of  valor 
performed  by  knights  of  old  and  our 
revered  ancestors  seem  but  the  pre- 


52      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

figuration  of  richer  and  holier  things  of 
to-day.  The  entire  history  of  our  na- 
tion would  appear  to  have  been  leading 
up  to  what  we  have  witnessed  during 
the  past  two  years. 

Millions  of  Frenchmen  have  entered 
this  war  with  a  fervor  of  heroism  and 
martyrdom  which  formerly,  in  the  most 
exalted  epochs  of  our  history,  charac- 
terized only  the  flower  of  the  com- 
batants. Young  or  old,  poor  or  rich, 
and  whatever  his  religious  faith,  the 
French  soldier  of  1916  knows  that  his  is 
a  nation  which  intervenes  when  injustice 
prevails  upon  the  earth,  and  in  his 
muddy  trench,  gun  in  hand,  he  knows 
that  he  is  carrying  onward  the  Gesta 
Dei  per  Francos. 

Roland,  on  the  evening  after  Ronce- 
vaux,  murmurs  with  dying  breath:  "O 
Land  of  France,  most  sweet  art  thou, 
my  country."  It  is  with  similar  expres- 
sions and  the  same  love  that  our  soldiers 
of  to-day  are  dying.  "Au  revoir," 
writes  Jean  Cherlomey  to  his  wife, 
"promise  me  to  bear  no  grudge  against 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     53 

France  if  she  requires  all  of  me." — "An 
revoir,  it  is  for  the  sake  of  France," 
were  the  dying  words  of  Captain  Her- 
sart  de  La  Villemarque. — "Vive  la 
France,  I  am  well  content,  I  am  dying 
for  her  sake,"  said  Corporal  Voituret  of 
the  Second  Dragoons,  and  expired  while 
trying  to  sing  the  Marseillaise. — Albert 
Malet,  whose  handbooks  are  used  in 
teaching  history  to  our  school  children, 
enlisted  for  the  war;  his  chest  is  pierced 
by  a  bullet,  he  shouts:  "Forward,  my 
friends  I  I  am  happy  in  dying  for 
France,"  and  sinks  upon  the  barbed  wire 
in  front  of  the  enemy's  trenches. — "Five 
la  France,  I  die,  but  I  am  well  content," 
cry  in  turn,  one  after  another,  thousands 
of  dying  men,  and  the  soldier  Raissac 
of  the  Thirty-first  of  the  line,  mortally 
wounded  on  the  twenty-third  of  Sep- 
tember, 1914,  finds  strength  before 
expiring  to  write  on  the  back  of  his 
mother's  photograph:  "It  is  an  honor 
for  the  French  soldier  to  die." 

They  do  not  wish  to  be  mourned. 
Georges   Morillot,   a  graduate  of  the 


54      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

Ecole  Normale  and  sub-lieutenant  in 
the  Twenty-seventh  Infantry,  died  for 
France  in  the  forest  of  Apremont  on 
December  n,  1914,  leaving  a  letter  to 
his  parents:  "If  this  letter  comes  into 
your  hands  it  will  be  because  I  am  no 
more  and  because  I  shall  have  died  the 
most  glorious  of  deaths.  Do  not  bewail 
me  too  much ;  my  end  is  of  all  the  most 
to  be  desired.  .  .  .  Speak  of  me  from 
time  to  time  as  of  one  of  those  who  have 
given  their  blood  that  France  may  live 
and  who  have  died  gladly.  .  .  .  Since 
my  earliest  childhood  I  have  always 
dreamed  of  dying  for  my  country,  my 
face  toward  the  foe.  .  .  .  Let  me  sleep 
where  the  accident  of  battle  shall  have 
placed  me,  by  the  side  of  those  who,  like 
myself,  shall  have  died  for  France;  I 
shall  sleep  well  there.  .  .  .  My  dear 
Father  and  Mother,  happy  are  they  who 
die  for  their  native  land.  What  matters 
the  life  of  individuals  if  France  is  saved? 
My  dearly-beloved,  do  not  grieve.  .  .  . 
Vive  la  France!" — Louis  Belanger, 
twenty  years  of  age,  killed  by  the  enemy 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     55 

on  September  28,  1915,  had  written  to 
his  family:  "I  hope  that  my  death  will 
not  be  to  you  a  cause  of  sorrow,  but  an 
occasion  for  pride.  It  is  my  wish  that 
mourning  should  not  be  worn  for  me, 
for,  in  the  glorious  day  when  France 
shall  be  restored  the  sombre  garb  must 
not  be  allowed  to  dull  the  sunlight  with 
which  all  French  souls  will  be  irradi- 
ated." In  obedience  to  his  desire  the 
cards  announcing  his  death  were  not 
framed  in  black,  but  edged  with  silver. 
Hubert  Prouve-Drouot  was  a  Saint- 
Cyrien  of  the  class  called  La  Grande 
Revanche,  who  died  on  the  field  of 
honor;  when  leaving  home  to  join  his 
regiment  he  makes  this  his  last  request 
to  his  mother:  "When  the  troops  come 
home  victorious  through  the  Arc  de 
Triomphe,  if  I  am  no  longer  amongst 
them,  put  on  your  finest  apparel  and  be 
there." 

The  mothers  understand  and  share 
this  sacred  enthusiasm.  Beside  the  hos- 
pital bed,  where  lies  extended  the  body 
of  his  dead  son,  a  father  weeps;  the 


$6     THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

mother,  a  peasant  woman,  takes  him 
by  the  hand:  "We  have  got  to  have 
courage,  my  husband.  You  see  well 
enough  the  boy  had  it." — A  soldier 
from  Bagneres-de-Bigorre,  a  gardener 
at  Lourdes,  sorely  wounded,  died  at  the 
hospital  maintained  by  1'Institut  de 
France;  his  wife,  summoned  by  tele- 
gram, arrives  too  late.  Before  the  body 
lying  cold  in  death  she  said  simply:  "He 
died  for  his  country,  she  was  his  mother, 
I  am  only  his  wife." — Madame  de  Cas- 
telnau,  the  wife  of  the  illustrious  general, 
while  at  the  communion  table  was  pray- 
ing for  her  three  sons  at  the  front  when 
she  observed  that  the  hand  of  the  priest 
presenting  her  with  the  wafer  was 
trembling.  She  understood  and  said 
simply:  "Which  one?" 

The  fact  is  that  the  French  mothers, 
sustained  by  a  power  above,  believe  that 
their  sons,  in  yielding  their  lives  for 
France,  find,  not  death,  but  an  evolution. 
One  of  them,  who  is  unwilling  that  her 
name  should  be  given,  uses  this  word  in 
a  letter  radiant  with  sacred  beauty. 


THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE     57 

Paris,  October  20,  1915. 
"Commandant, 

"I  cannot  thank  you  adequately  for 
the  accuracy  of  your  sorrowful  recollec- 
tions. The  anniversary  of  the  sacrifice 
of  my  brave  boy  is  at  the  same  time 
particularly  cruel  and  particularly  sweet ; 
cruel,  because  it  recalls  to  mind  a  day 
when  I  was  thinking  of  him,  without 
misgivings  as  to  the  anguish  which  his 
valor  was  to  cost  me;  sweet,  because  I 
could  not  visualize  the  abrupt  end  of 
this  pure  and  brief  life  under  any  other 
aspect  than  that  of  a  supreme  evolution. 

"I  thank  you,  Commandant,  for  all 
that  you  tell  me  of  my  dear  young 
soldier;  may  his  glorious  death  con- 
tribute to  the  victory  of  our  country; 
when  that  time  comes  I  shall  kneel  and 
once  more  say  'I  thank  you.'  My 
mother's  heart  remains  shattered  in  face 
of  the  death  of  this  boy  of  twenty  years 
who  was  all  my  joy.  Oh,  how  proud 
and  how  unhappy  one  can  be  at  the  same 
time! 

"Will  you,  Commandant,  allow  me  to 


5$      THE  UNDYING  SPIRIT  OF  FRANCE 

transmit  through  you  my  tender  feeling 
toward  all  those  who  cherish  a  remem- 
brance of  him  who  has  fallen  in  his 
country's  defence,  and  say  to  them  that 
my  thoughts  turn  frequently  to  that 
Land  of  Lorraine,  so  dear  to  all  French 
hearts?" 

"A  supreme  evolution,"  she  says.  It 
would  seem,  indeed,  that  we  have  known 
only  the  chrysalis  form  and  that  an 
entire  people  is  unfolding  its  wings. 
The  ever-living  France  is  freeing  her- 
self. It  is  for  her  that  the  sons  of 
France  are  dying  a  death  devoutly 
accepted  by  their  mothers. 

A  woman  of  the  common  people  re- 
ceives notification  of  the  death  of  her 
husband  on  the  field  of  honor  while  she 
is  holding  in  her  arms  her  babe  to  whom 
she  is  giving  nourishment.  She  reels, 
straightens  up  again  and  cries :  "Five  la 
France"  holding  up  her  son  toward 
Heaven.  Child  of  martyrs,  offspring  of 
thirty  generations  of  such,  thou  shalt 
live  to-morrow  in  a  victorious  France. 


2-Wt-^1  oCT  2. 
URUD    °^ 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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